


Catch Me If You Can

by writeratheart007301



Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [4]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Mission Fic, Post-Mission, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: “I don’t need any toys, Hill. The charm lies in my hands. And mytongue.”“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”“A little too much of it."
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896979
Comments: 11
Kudos: 145





	1. The Devil Wears Prada

**Author's Note:**

> Same drill as always. Standalone plot. Events independent of the earlier story "Ocean's Two." 
> 
> Apologies for any typos/grammatical errors. Enjoy the story and stay safe!

#### The Widow

“So, you’re telling me,” Natasha snapped, “That Hill is still in the building – with another _injured_ agent – and you guys are just sitting out here on your asses?”

Her voice – and eyes as well, probably – must have been dripping acid, because the cluster of agents she was glaring at all but shrunk away from her.

They kept gaping at her, their mouths opening and closing like they were fish out of water, and Natasha outright growled at them. She took a menacing step towards them, but before she could do anything else, the walkie-talkie propped on the hood of one of the vans crackled to life.

“Stop terrorising the rookies, Romanoff,” Hill’s voice came in, “I told them to wait there. They’re just following my orders.”

“And, care to explain what you’re doing here?” the lieutenant added, “You were supposed to be on leave today.”

The agents immediately sprung apart to make way for Natasha as she stalked up to the car and snatched the device off it.

“Well, I _am_ here now, Hill,” Natasha huffed into the walkie-talkie, “To save the op, and your asses. Like S.H.I.E.L.D.’s very own knight in shining armour.”

She cringed at her own words, though, as she looked down at herself. Because she was in jeans, a casual blouse and freaking _pumps._

_Very shining. Very armour._

Hill’s scoff at the other end was but Natasha’s inner voice, mocking her.

“ _Quite_ poetic, Romanoff,” the lieutenant jeered, “Now, get yourself familiarised with the mission plan. You have about 2 minutes.”

* * *

True to her word, Hill walked out of the building – a huge, multi-storeyed research laboratory, essentially – just when Natasha was done skimming over the blueprints.

The taller woman made her way to their van, a blonde woman’s arm slung over her shoulder as they staggered forward. Two of the agents beside Natasha jogged up to them and took the injured woman. The blonde was promptly strapped onto a gurney and wheeled into the back of one of the vans. The agents then scrambled over to the front of the van and drove off.

And Hill finally addressed the remaining team, her expression grim and strict.

“Our cover’s been blown,” the lieutenant began, “Apparently, someone else knew that we had planted one of our agents at the lab.”

“We were ambushed in there,” Hill informed, jutting her chin towards the building, “But we’ve managed to take out all of them. There’s no one in the building right now; it’s completely empty.”

“But the vials are still not in our possession,” the taller woman went on, her voice clipped, “And whoever’s after them – apart from us – is soon going to send in another platoon to get them.”

The agents bobbed their heads in agreement, and the lieutenant motioned for them to step aside. She turned towards them to relay their specific instructions.

“You guys will stay outside and neutralise the assailants, once they’re here,” Hill commanded, “Meanwhile, Romanoff and I will go in and get the vials.”

The lieutenant looked at each of the agents, noting their nods, and then whirled around to face Natasha. The taller woman gave her a once-over, like she was just noticing her, and her tensed gaze softened just a bit.

“You’re…” Hill began, her voice gentle and breathy, and Natasha thought she was going to say _beautiful,_ “… not in gear.”

The brunette promptly walked over to the remaining van, peering into its back to search for something, and Natasha scoffed at her own naivety.

Hill tossed her a Kevlar, an earpiece and a Glock before reaching inside the trunk of the van once again. The woman rummaged through the paraphernalia for a while and Natasha quickly got herself suited up. She then fixed her earpiece and tested the comms before turning to face the lieutenant.

Hill reappeared with a whole lot of climbing gear – a harness, ropes, carabiners and everything – slung over a shoulder. Her other hand was holding a small duffel bag, and Natasha raised her eyebrows at the sight of all the equipment.

 _Just what did I sign up for, on my_ one _day off._

But the taller woman didn’t offer an explanation just yet. She gave the rest of the agents a curt nod and then started walking back towards the building. Natasha followed her briskly, matching her strides in a few paces.

She glanced at the lieutenant as they increased their pace, “Why’d you choose me to join you?”

Hill didn’t look back at her, her laser-focused gaze fixed ahead, but Natasha caught the half-grin on her lips.

“My agents can take on the incoming threat, Romanoff,” Hill replied, “But I needed to protect them from the Widow’s wrath first.”

And a full-blown smile split across Natasha’s face, making her shake her head.

_Maybe, it’ll be a holiday well-spent, after all._

* * *

“So, Hill,” Natasha said, just as they entered the building, “What’s with all the additional baggage?”

They kept walking, weaving through the corridors as they went further in. The taller woman tilted her head a little to look at Natasha, and Natasha pointed towards the gear she was carrying.

“I thought I told you to go through the mission plans,” Hill replied, the words strict but her gaze calm.

“So sorry, Agent,” Natasha said, her voice filled with faux remorse, “For not reading all of the _27 pages._ In less than a minute.”

“The _vials_ , Romanoff,” Hill began, once she’d rolled her eyes, “They’re locked in a vault, in a very special chamber.”

“The floor of the room has these pressure sensors,” the lieutenant explained, “They’re insanely sensitive. You could merely cough onto the ground, and the damn things will still detect it and set off an alarm.”

“The alarm, in turn, triggers another series of events,” Hill went on, “The chamber gets sealed – locking you inside it – and a gas gets released through one of the airducts.”

“It isn’t strictly poisonous,” the lieutenant said, “But it causes the windpipe to swell up – basically choking you – in a way that you’d pass out within seconds of inhaling it. And die _,_ eventually, if nothing is done about it.”

“The intention is to catch – and _kill –_ the intruder right in the middle of the heist,” Hill scoffed, “Not so shocking, actually; given the kind of destructive viruses they’re developing at their labs.”

Natasha nodded in understanding, the information sinking in quickly. The taller woman stopped as they reached the junction of two different passageways, making Natasha halt too.

“So, let me guess,” Natasha supplied, “Hacking into their systems and overriding the security would be too time consuming.”

Hill nodded, and Natasha leaned towards her, wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially, “So, we’ll be getting into the room without _stepping_ into the room.”

“Precisely,” the lieutenant replied, grinning at her, “There’s a vent on the chamber’s ceiling – poor design on their part, clearly – that we can pry apart from the room right above it.”

“The vent is rather strategically placed, for _us,”_ Hill remarked, “It’s a little surprising how no one working in the building has noticed it in all this while.”

“They probably got airheaded,” Natasha replied, a silly grin on her lips, “Must’ve thought that their _gas-the-thief_ strategy is fool proof enough.”

The pun was easily one of the _lamest_ that Natasha had ever come up with, but the taller woman still chuckled.

“So, yeah, that’s the plan,” Hill said after a bit, “I’ll need you stationed in the room above, to lower me into the chamber, so that I can get the vials. The vault itself –”

“Hold on,” Natasha instantly stopped her, “Why do I have to do the boring part?”

“Because I’m the one in the tac suit,” Hill replied, a smirk slowly forming itself on her lips, “And, because _I_ want to do the cool part.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at the taller woman, and then her gaze flitted towards the two corridors in front of them.

The paths had turns pointing in opposite directions, but Natasha had gone through the floorplans of the building, and she knew they both eventually led to the very room that they needed to be positioned in.

And the game had just presented itself.

“Nope,” Natasha said, “There’s no way _you_ get to have all the fun. Especially not when I’ve given up my day off for this.”

“Or what?” Hill retorted, an eyebrow arched up, “You going to make me _race_ you till there?”

And the lieutenant had walked right into the Widow’s web.

Natasha jutted her chin out at the taller woman – the grin on her lips downright _diabolical_ – and watched the realisation dawn upon the brunette.

Natasha was just about to take off when Hill’s voice stopped her.

“Wait,” the lieutenant called out, “Your laces are untied.”

Natasha reflexively squatted down to reach for her boots, and then realised she _wasn’t_ _wearing_ boots. She lowered her head and shook it, chuckling at Hill’s tactic.

Natasha looked up a second later, fully expecting the taller woman to have already bolted, making use of the head start. But Hill was standing exactly in the same position, a cocky smile tugging at her lips.

The woman crouched down as well, bringing herself to Natasha’s eye level, “You aren’t the only one with tricks up the sleeve, Romanoff.”

Hill placed the duffel bag in her hand onto the floor, unzipping it to reach for something, her gaze barely leaving Natasha’s face. She revealed the item – _items –_ in her hand, and Natasha could hardly help her own grin.

Placing the combat boots in front of Natasha, the lieutenant patted them once, “But I always fight fair.”

“Ever the noble soldier, aren’t you?” Natasha all but murmured.

Hill’s features immediately turned mellow, and Natasha only then realised how soft her voice had been. Desperate to cover it up, she snatched the boots haughtily and proceeded to change out of her pumps.

The lieutenant simply zipped the bag close and lifted it as she stood up. She watched Natasha carelessly discard her Louis Vuitton heels, and raised her eyebrows a little, her expression somewhat apologetic.

“ _Yeah_ , Hill,” Natasha said, feigned sorrow spilling from her voice, “Those shoes were _crazy_ expensive.”

Hill scoffed at the theatrics, but her eyes crinkled at the edges with the smile she was holding back. And Natasha came closer to the taller woman, tilting her head to look up at those sharp orbs.

The sapphires that had the power – but _never_ the intention – to defeat her.

“But the look on your face when I win against you?” Natasha said, her voice a mere whisper, despite the sass in her words, “That’s going to be _priceless._ ”

With that, Natasha dashed into the path in front of her, just barely catching the lieutenant’s breathless grin.

* * *

Natasha knew she had outdone herself when she reached the room in just 2.5 minutes flat.

Which was why her jaw actually – _physically –_ dropped when she saw Hill already there.

The taller woman was fixing the rope and the harness, and she hadn’t noticed Natasha yet. Natasha shuffled in and Hill paused for a second, only to give her a quick side glance. The lieutenant then promptly went back to her work, anchoring the cord against the foot of the mammoth work desk in the room.

Natasha walked up to her and bent down to assist the woman, “How’d you get here so fast?”

“I took a shortcut,” Hill answered, not even looking at her.

The lieutenant’s voice was more tensed than triumphant, and it completely threw Natasha off.

_Why isn’t she gloating?_

“Well, that’s not fair,” Natasha tried, “You obviously know the building better than I do.”

But the brunette didn’t reply, her focus completely directed towards setting up the gear, her movements fast and efficient.

“ _Come on,_ Hill,” Natasha all but whined, “You can’t make me stand out here, holding the rope, like some kind of a loser.”

“You _are_ the loser right now, Romanoff,” Hill instantly retorted, still not facing Natasha.

And Natasha almost jerked back at the woman’s harsh tone. This wasn’t a playful jab. It was a taunting _snarl_.

Natasha observed the lieutenant, taking in the strange stress etched across her features as she worked. Hill’s jaw was squared in that unyielding way that made it obvious that she wasn’t going to give in to any argument.

And Natasha didn’t _have_ any argument, given that the taller woman had beaten her at their little match. And the only last-ditch effort that Natasha had left in her arsenal was rather undignified for her liking.

_Goddammit. I can’t believe I’m going to play this card…_

“You can’t do this to me, Hill,” Natasha finagled, affecting as much solemnity in her voice as she could, “Not on my –”

“ _Fine,”_ Hill cut her off, finally looking at her, “You can have what you want.”

The lieutenant thrust the harness towards Natasha, and Natasha fell quiet, unable to understand why Hill was giving up, just like that.

“Take it, Romanoff,” the brunette growled, waving the gear impatiently in her hand, “I don’t have time for your games.”

 _You always do, though,_ Natasha wanted to point out. But she saw the woman’s strict expression, her gaze darting around periodically, and she knew it was best to stay silent.

Natasha took the harness from Hill and began to get it onto herself. And the taller woman promptly whirled around and crouched down, her hands reaching for the prying tools, to take apart the vent on the floor.

Natasha was just finished tightening the straps of the harness when Hill stood up, done with her part as well. The hole in the ground was just big enough for Natasha, and she could already see the vault in the chamber below.

“It probably wouldn’t take too long,” Hill muttered, following Natasha’s gaze, “Should be an easy in-and-out job.”

“My _least_ favourite kind of a quickie,” Natasha replied almost instantly.

The crass quip took a while to hit, but the lieutenant eventually looked towards her and grinned outright.

_Finally._

Natasha saw some of the strain leave Hill’s features, and she felt herself relaxing. She didn’t know why the brunette’s smile made her feel so contented.

_Maybe it’s because it’s such a rare – and gorgeous – sight…_

Natasha shook herself out of her thoughts and proceeded to sit down. Her legs were dangling into the opening on the floor, and the cool air from the chamber below made goose bumps trail up all the way till her thighs.

Hill handed her some of the tools from the duffel bag, but Natasha simply shook her head. She’d seen the vault’s lock just a minute ago, and it didn’t seem overly complex to require any special apparatus.

“I don’t need any toys, Hill. The charm lies in my hands,” Natasha said, a wolfish smirk waiting on her lips, “And my _tongue.”_

And the taller woman was clearly trying to smother her laugh, “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“A little too much of it,” Natasha replied, grinning cheekily.

The taller woman shook her head at the antics and then took her position, a few steps away from the hole. Hill checked the cord and connectors one last time before grasping the rope. And Natasha didn’t need to look at the lieutenant’s hands to know that her grip was strong and firm. She could see it in Hill’s eyes.

_She won’t let me fall. Ever._

It was hardly even a belief. It was the truth. Intangible, but incontestable.

Natasha inspected the harness one last time, ensuring that it was properly fastened, and adjusted her earpiece.

And then, without a hint of doubt in her heart, she simply pushed herself off the edge of the opening.

* * *

“Right. Right. Some more to the ri– _dammit_. That’s too much. Should be a little –”

“Aren’t you supposed to do this silently, Romanoff?”

Natasha could hear the exasperation in the lieutenant’s voice, even though it was a little distorted over the comms.

And Hill was right _;_ Natasha _did_ need to hear the movement of the inner mechanics of the lock, in order to know when she’d reached the right combination.

But even while she was suspended several feet in the air, her head facing the door of the vault containing the vials, Natasha just couldn’t resist irking the lieutenant.

“It’s a _ritual_ , Hill,” she hissed into her earpiece, “Deal with it.”

“Safes are like moody chicks,” Natasha added, grinning even though the woman couldn’t see it, “You’ve got to softly coax them into opening up and letting you in.”

Hill sputtered out a laugh at the other end, and Natasha’s smile widened even more.

Natasha promptly resumed her work – _quietly_ , this time – and focused as she slowly rotated the dial of the lock, carefully listening for the unique _clicks_ for each of the numbers of the combination.

It took her another minute, but Natasha managed to crack the safe open. She quickly grabbed the handle, pushing it with one hand while the other turned the wheel to open the door.

And Natasha was about to wrench it open, when she felt a tug at the small of her back, where the cord was connected to her harness.

“Are you done or what?” Hill’s voice came in through the earpiece.

“Why the hurry?” Natasha replied teasingly, “Am I holding you back from your hot date?”

Hill huffed over the comms, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Natasha opened the door and bit back profanities as she saw the contents of the vault.

“Well, if I am, then you’d better cancel your plans,” Natasha muttered, “Because we’ve got a new problem.”

“What is it?” the lieutenant snapped, her voice clipped.

“There’s another safe in here,” Natasha said, “It’s a glass box bolted at the base. I can see the vials inside it.”

“And the safe is password protected,” Natasha added, “There’s a small screen on its wall, with a touch-keyboard to enter the code.”

“I could try shooting at it to shatter the glass,” Natasha said, craning her neck to observe all of its sides, “But I’m pretty sure it’s bullet proof.”

“Yeah, don’t even try breaking it,” Hill replied instantly, “In the remote chance that you _do_ manage to do it, the pieces could drop onto the floor and you’d trigger the alarm. And the lethal gas.”

_Of course, the lieutenant thinks of it all._

“It looks like a mini-computer,” Natasha said, her fingers already pawing at the touch-panel on the safe, “I could hack into it.”

“Sure,” Hill replied, the frustration evident in her tone, “Give it a try.”

 _Try_ was the operative word, really.

Because this wasn’t like any other system Natasha had broken into. And she could feel the stress building at the thought of just how long it might take for her to figure it out. Or _if_ she would figure it out.

“And, uh, Romanoff?” Hill spoke after a bit, her voice gentle, if still nervous, “Not sure if this helps, but, uh… stay calm. You’ve got this.”

If only the woman knew _how much_ that helped.

Natasha didn’t reply and simply smiled to herself. Her gaze zeroed in on the glass-safe, and the vault, the chamber – everything around her – faded into the background.

Natasha looked at the vials resting inside the box; so close, yet so far. She knew couldn’t have too many attempts at this, but Natasha was somehow relaxed. Because she’d heard the faith in Hill’s words.

Her fingers flew over the touch-keyboard briefly and the safe hummed to life, mewling softly, like defiant prey caught in the clutches of its pursuer. The screen began to spout alerts, and Natasha’s grin as she looked at it was pure evil.

The poor thing wouldn’t stand a chance.

Because the Widow was on a hunt. And she _always_ got her target.

* * *

“I’m a genius, Hill, and it’s just been officially proven.”

Natasha didn’t bother with even a modicum of modesty as she watched the glass door swish open.

Much to her own surprise, Natasha had managed to hack into the safe within just a few minutes. And the gruff chuckle she heard over the comms told her that Hill was equally proud.

“ _Yes_ , Romanoff,” Hill scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “You _are_ speed.”

Natasha grinned to herself and then reached into the box, her hands carefully extracting the vials from their individual fixtures.

She was just done taking out the last one, and then everything happened really fast.

Without any warning at all, the cord attached to Natasha’s harness went slack, and suddenly, she was falling.

The vial slipped out of Natasha’s grip, and her hand instantly flew out to grab it from the air. Natasha knew that the impact with the ground was inevitable, and she instinctively pulled the vials close to her chest and curled herself into a ball, to prevent them from breaking.

And just a millisecond later, Natasha felt a strong tug on the rope, and she lurched to a halt, her body dangling dangerously close to the floor.

But the abrupt stop in the fall made Natasha jerk, and there was absolutely nothing she could do when her earpiece got dislodged and fell onto the ground, just a few inches away from her face.

Natasha watched the device clatter against the floor – almost in slow motion – and cursed under her breath. She tilted her head up, sweeping her gaze around to look for the airduct that she knew was going to come alive.

And sure enough, there was a growing cloud of gas – white and thick – at the far end of the chamber, the tell-tale hiss ringing ominously in the otherwise silent room.

_Of. Fucking. Course._

The dread was instantaneous when Natasha saw the rate at which the mist was snaking towards her. The cord connected to her harness was taut, but it was _stationary,_ and Natasha felt her panic multiply _._

She was just suspended at that height. In the _literal_ concentration chamber.

Natasha couldn’t turn around and climb up the rope, with her hands filled with the vials, and she gnashed her teeth in frustration. She tried, nevertheless, but the struggle was entirely futile, and she growled at her helplessness.

_What the hell is Hill doing up there?_

The fog soon made it to her, and Natasha had just one second to hold her breath before the blast of air hit her.

* * *

Natasha had just decided to forego the vials and save herself when she _finally_ felt a pull on the rope.

Her body lurched once again as it was lifted upwards. Natasha turned her head to look up, but the outline of opening in the ceiling, her entry and exit – and _escape_ – point was barely visible through the vapour.

And she realised that the speed at which she was moving was far too slow. Natasha’s lungs were already burning with the need for oxygen, and she knew that her breath wouldn’t last till she reached up there.

And Natasha had only crossed about half the height when her body gave out and her mouth flew open, making her inhale the fumes.

They didn’t taste or smell peculiar, and Natasha desperately wanted to believe that it was just a harmless gas. But only a couple of seconds later, she started feeling like her throat was closing – from the _inside –_ and she knew that it _wasn’t._

She tried to breathe, but it only set off a wave of violent gasps, and Natasha’s body all but writhed in the air. The pull on the rope became tighter and she knew she was being lifted faster, but Natasha couldn’t register it, with her windpipe feeling like it was being crushed.

Just a second later, Natasha was hauled out of the opening, and she rolled away from the hole, her body heaving as she struggled to breathe.

Her vision had already began blacking out, her brain starting to shut down because of the lack of oxygen. Natasha could make out a hazy figure beside her hastily closing the vent, and she blinked her eyes rapidly, as if it would return her sight.

She inhaled deeply, but _nothing_ seemed to cross her windpipe.

Her lungs felt like they were ablaze, and Natasha’s body uselessly flailed on the ground. She could feel the straps of her harness being unfastened as she convulsed on the floor. Her bulletproof vest was removed next, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest.

The hands left her, and Natasha turned on her side, desperate to try _something._ She somehow stood up, but then quickly realised it wasn’t going to help. Because that fire in her chest had taken over her entire body, every cell in it screaming for oxygen.

But Natasha couldn’t do anything other than clawing at her throat, willing for the flames licking at its inside to die out and just end the _searing_ _ago_ –

Air.

_Oxygen._

There was oxygen _in her lungs. Finally._

“Breathe, Romanoff,” a voice spoke, the sound seeming like it was coming from a hundred miles away, “Breathe, _please.”_

Natasha obeyed, and she felt that rush of life again, her airway beginning to clear suddenly. She shut her eyes in utter _relief_ and kept inhaling, letting the oxygen reach each part of her body, the organs getting rejuvenated with every passing second.

The oxygen finally got to her brain, and Natasha’s senses slowly started functioning again. And she realised there was something in her mouth, keeping it open. It tasted like plastic, and the texture resembled that of an asthma inhaler. She felt a puff of aerosol against her throat, and she figured it probably was.

Natasha had no idea how long she must’ve stayed like that, just… _breathing,_ before she could get herself to open her eyes.

And she found a pair of troubled, _frantic_ orbs staring back at her.

The inhaler-like thing was still in Natasha’s mouth, and she brought a quaking hand up to hold Hill’s wrist. The brunette pulled the object out, and Natasha wheezed a little, her body readapting as she tried to breathe on her own.

But the coughs ceased quickly this time, and Natasha steadied herself soon enough. She gazed back at Hill and saw that the despair in the blue eyes had increased even more.

Natasha managed to give her an exhausted smile, “Hey there, hot st–”

The taller woman staggered forward and took Natasha into a hug, all but collapsing against her, and Natasha ended up finishing the sentence with a surprised _oof_.

“I’m sorry, Romanoff,” Hill whispered, _“I’m so sorry.”_

“I should’ve given you the inhaler before you went in,” the brunette muttered, “I… I had the anti-inflammatory drug with me the whole time, and yet, you…”

Hill let the sentence trail off, her own voice strangled and tormented. And Natasha could only melt into her embrace, hopelessly trembling in the taller woman’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Hill said once again, her chin falling onto Natasha’s shoulder, “I just… _I’m so sorry_.”

The brunette kept repeating the words in Natasha’s ear, the pain in her voice somehow growing every time.

But Natasha was still a little disoriented, her body taking time to fully regroup after the ordeal. And she could only stand there, unable to do much apart from letting her presence soothe the taller woman while she kept mumbling her litany of apologies.

And it was an eternity later when Natasha finally became lucid enough _,_ and she realised that the tremors weren’t coming from her own body _._

They were coming from _Hill’s._

And just like that, all of Natasha’s senses came alive, and she could feel _everything._

The brunette’s ragged breaths blowing onto her ear. The distinct scent of gunfire. And the wetness against her thigh, where she and Hill were touching.

As if on cue, the arms around Natasha went slack, and the taller woman practically sank against her. Natasha felt Hill’s knees buckle, and she instantly raised her hands to hold the brunette in place.

A pained moan escaped the taller woman’s lips, and Natasha pulled out of the hug, alarms going off in her head. She held Hill upright while her gaze flew down to scan the brunette’s body. Her eyes landed on Hill’s right leg, and she forgot to breathe.

The lieutenant’s thigh was bleeding severely, the bullet embedded in the flesh just above the knee visible through the tear in her tac suit.

Natasha was going to shift her gaze back up, when she saw the _second_ hole, a lot lower on the same leg. The blood loss wasn’t as profuse from this wound, and Natasha figured that the bullet was lodged in the taller woman’s shin.

Natasha quickly reached for the straps of Hill’s Kevlar – not missing the bullets jammed in the material – and pulled off the suit, throwing it aside carelessly. She pulled down the zip on Hill’s tac suit and removed the jacket off the woman.

Natasha was in the middle of tying the jacket above the wound on Hill’s thigh when her eyes suddenly darted towards the rest of the room.

There were several bodies littered on the ground at the entrance of the room – the silencers on the guns strewn beside them shining under the bright office lights – and Natasha finally understood what must have happened.

Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, but Natasha pushed them all aside and resumed her task. She tightened the knot over Hill’s thigh, and the woman’s leg jerked inadvertently.

Natasha promptly straightened herself and saw that Hill had lowered her head, her jaw clenched tightly. Natasha could see the lieutenant blinking back tears, pain etched across her features, and she felt her throat get clogged up all over again.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Natasha croaked, her own voice hoarse and weak.

Hill didn’t raise her head just yet and only nodded shakily. Natasha was about to reach for the woman’s arm when she suddenly realised that her own hands had been empty all this time.

Natasha’s head whipped around frenziedly, “ _Dammit_ , the vials –”

“They’re… they’re intact,” Hill cut her off, looking up at her, “I took them from you after pulling you out. They’re inside the duffel bag.”

Natasha gave her a slow nod, wondering just how the brunette had even remembered to do that. She took Hill’s left arm and slung it over her shoulder, supporting the lieutenant’s weight.

The taller woman was thin and light enough for Natasha to carry, on any other occasion. But right now, Natasha didn’t trust herself to not collapse, with her still erratic breathing.

“I lost my earpiece down there,” Natasha murmured, “I’m going to take yours, okay?”

Hill wasn’t facing her, her head back to being bowed, but she nodded yet again. Natasha’s free arm came up to pull the device out of the taller woman’s ear, and her palm unintentionally cupped the cheek on the other side of Hill’s face.

And the brunette nuzzled her jaw right into Natasha’s hand. She let out a soft sigh and closed her eyes, her features going slack with relief. As if that simple touch was taking away all her pain.

And Natasha all but whimpered at the sight.

Her eyes never left the woman as she took out the earpiece and fixed it into her own ear. Natasha then bent down a little to pick up the duffel bag lying beside them. Its base was wet, and it was stained from the pool of blood on the floor, coming from the brunette’s wounds.

The gunshot in Hill’s thigh had definitely hit some blood vessel – hopefully _not_ the femoral artery – and the blood was gushing out of the hole at an alarming rate. And Natasha knew that the taller woman needed medical attention fast.

“Could you…” Hill muttered, “Could you pass me my gun?”

And Natasha immediately glared at her: _you can barely walk; what do you possibly need the gun for?_

But the lieutenant returned it, her jaw squared determinedly: _if I die today, I want to be armed till the last second._

And Natasha turned away sharply, the unsaid words deafening her.

She bent down once more, to do Hill’s bidding, and handed the lieutenant her Glock. The brunette took the gun; her hand trembling, but her grip still firm, somehow.

And Natasha stared at the woman, her gaze fixed ahead as she breathed deeply, trying to push down her pain. She draped an arm around Hill’s waist and steadied the taller woman as they prepared to leave from there.

Natasha’s own body still wasn’t entirely fine, and she could feel the muscles in her throat working extra hard every time she inhaled.

But the resolve was set deep in her bones. She would get Hill to safety. Even at the cost of her final breath.

* * *

The two of them had hobbled a fair distance after exiting the room without running into anyone.

_So, those were the only attackers, back in the room. And the rest of them haven’t arri–_

“Agent Hill!” a tensed voice rang in Natasha’s earpiece.

“No, it’s Romanoff,” Natasha spoke into it, “What’s the sitrep?”

There were some muffled sounds at the end before the voice came in, “ _They’re here_.”

Natasha’s gaze darted towards one of the windows beside them in the corridor, and she instantly understood what the agent meant.

She could see a small army of gunmen making their way through the entrance, the agents scrambling to find cover spots as they fired back. But the team was hopelessly outnumbered, and Natasha noticed some of the attackers bypass them and get inside the building.

_Fucking hell._

“We’d called for backup a while ago,” the agent spoke again, “They should be here any time now.”

And almost immediately, Natasha heard the droning of choppers from outside the building, the sparks of gunshots visible in the late evening sky as the agents inside the aircrafts helped the ground team fight back.

“Okay, Agent, I need one chopper waiting at the roof,” Natasha barked into the earpiece, “And the rest of the team can use the other choppers to extract themselves.”

“But we’ll need counter-strike for some time,” Natasha added, “Till we’re out of the building.”

Natasha looked towards the taller woman as they kept stumbling forward, “Agent Hill has been hit.”

The agent at the other end mumbled out an _okay_ over the comms, and Natasha increased her pace as she dragged Hill with her. She changed her grip over the duffel bag she was holding, hooking it over her wrist, and then quickly whipped out her own gun using the same hand, unlocking its safety.

They soon reached the service exit of the building and found themselves facing two flights of stairs: one going up, the other leading down. They were currently only on the 2nd storey, and they’d have to climb up another 13 floors to get to the roof.

Hill gave Natasha’s shoulder a squeeze, “What are we waiting for, Romanoff?”

Natasha turned to look at her, and she saw that stubborn grit on the taller woman’s face. And while it would usually send a surge of pride through Natasha, right now, it only made her heart clench.

“We’re not going to the roof,” Natasha whispered.

_You’ll never make it till there._

Hill immediately ducked her head, her grip over Natasha’s shoulder loosening. The hand almost slipped off entirely, but Natasha reached up with her armed hand and somehow grabbed the brunette’s finger, her hold a little shaky.

“We’re not going to the roof,” Natasha repeated, “We’re going to make them _think_ we’ve gone to the roof.”

The lieutenant looked at her, and Natasha shot her the most devilish grin she could manage. She gave Hill a brief look of warning before leaving the woman. The brunette braced herself against the railing of the staircase, and Natasha quickly got to work.

She placed the duffel bag on the floor and rummaged through it. She found the vials soon enough and tucked them safely into the pockets of her pants before picking up the bag and zipping it close halfway.

Then, Natasha bounded up the staircase leading to the roof and tossed the bag onto the ground, near the turning in the steps. She quickly ran back down to where Hill was standing and then tugged at the woman’s shirt as soon as she reached her.

“What…” the lieutenant instantly panicked, “What are you doing?”

“Shut up and stand still,” Natasha snapped, and simply proceeded with her task.

She pulled the shirt above Hill’s head, scoffing when she saw that the brunette had _another_ shirt – a tank top – underneath it.

“How many layers do you wear, woman?” Natasha muttered, rolling the shirt in her hand.

Natasha’s annoyance was a tad too genuine, and the lieutenant laughed outright.

“Next time you want to see my abs,” Hill said, her voice weak but still playful, “Try using the magic word.”

Natasha only huffed back and bent down. She tied the shirt low on Hill’s leg, below the wound on the taller woman’s shin, making sure the knot was loose enough.

“There,” Natasha said, standing up and studying her work, “Let’s pray that this prevents us from leaving a blood trail as we go to the _basement_.”

Hill finally understood her plan and gave her a nod. Natasha quickly assumed their earlier stance, with the brunette’s arm slung over her shoulder.

“You’re…” Hill paused, shaking her head fondly, and once again, Natasha foolishly thought she would say something like _a genius,_ “… a genius.”

And Natasha had to remind herself to _not_ look like a starstruck teenager who’d just met their favourite celebrity. But she could hardly help it. She was a total sucker for praise from the lieutenant.

She flashed Hill a (hopefully) cocky grin, “Aren’t _you_ glad I gave up my holiday for this…”

And the taller woman’s eyes instantly flickered, the blue orbs dim with pain. And guilt.

Hill looked away ruefully, “I’m –”

“Complete that sentence, Hill,” Natasha stopped her, biting out the words, “And you’ll _truly_ be sorry.”

Natasha stared at the woman till she faced her: _there’s no place I’d rather be but here; standing by your side when you need me._

And Hill’s gaze instantly softened: _I know._

The silent exchange was intense and terrifying in every way, but Natasha couldn’t possibly dwell on it right now. The brunette’s face was already paling because of the blood loss, and Natasha knew that they needed to get out fast.

“Come on, now,” Natasha murmured, “We’ve got to move.”

Hill nodded and they staggered towards the staircase leading down. They’d just began the descent when the lieutenant suddenly chuckled beside Natasha.

Hill gave her a side glance and then spoke, “If you… if you’d let me finish, you’d have known what I was apologising about.”

Natasha didn’t face her and tightened her grip over the brunette’s waist as they carefully walked down the steps.

“Oh, yeah?” Natasha replied, “Then finish it. I won’t stop you this time.”

Hill halted in her tracks, making Natasha look at her. The lieutenant’s sapphires were clear for just a moment, the barest hint of mirth peeking amidst the pain.

“I was going to say I’m sorry,” Hill whispered, “For bleeding all over your jeans.”

The taller woman bent down just a little, a tired smirk tugging at her lips, “And for not mentioning it until now that you look _gorgeous_ in them.”

The lieutenant winked at her – _for the first time ever –_ and the sight literally took Natasha’s breath away.

* * *

They reached the basement soon enough, but Hill had been silent after their little moment, and Natasha knew that she was running out of time.

She also knew that her _throw-them-off-the-scent_ strategy wasn’t fully fool proof, and her head whipped around for a suitable vehicle in the carpark to make their escape. She spotted it quickly and they huddled towards it as fast as they could.

With a single swing of her elbow, Natasha shattered the window of the car and opened the door from the inside. She placed Hill into the passenger seat, pushing it behind and propping the brunette’s bleeding leg up against gloves compartment. The woman had lost way too much blood already, and Natasha prayed that the new position would at least slow down the flow.

She swiftly shuffled back to the driver’s seat and got herself into the car. Natasha’s hotwiring skills were top-notch, and the engine purred to life within mere seconds. Not wasting any more of them, she jammed her foot down the accelerator.

The parking barrier was blocking the exit, but Natasha didn’t bother to wait for its arm to rise and drove right into it, taking the damn thing apart as the car burst out onto the ramp and then the road.

The collision made their car bounce and rattle, and Hill let out a groan beside Natasha, her wounds getting jostled.

“ _Dammit_ ,” the lieutenant muttered, pain evident in her voice.

Natasha turned to look at her, an apology ready on her lips. But the brunette had a tiny, exhausted grin on her lips, and Natasha fell quiet.

“Go easy on her, Romanoff,” Hill murmured, patting the seat beside her lightly, “She’s a _Porsche_.”

And Natasha would have smiled, but the brunette’s face was white as a sheet, the blood loss clearly reaching a dangerous stage.

Natasha’s gaze darted towards the rear-view mirror, and her worry skyrocketed.

She pressed her foot harder down on the pedal, “We’ve got a tail.”

The car following theirs was obviously combat grade, and it was closing in on them at an insane speed. And before Natasha knew it, the car was _right beside_ her window, the semi-automatic rifle pointing at them.

Natasha scrambled for her own gun, but it was too late.

The shots were already fired.

Except, they were still alive, the Porsche was still speeding, and the car beside theirs was _not._

And that’s when Natasha noticed the Glock in her peripheral vision, on her other side. She turned towards it and saw Hill’s raised arm, her hand shaking almost violently as she gripped her gun.

The arm stayed like that for only a second before it dropped down, the gun clattering somewhere onto the car’s floor. The brunette’s head fell back against the headrest, lolling over to the side as she struggled to stay conscious.

Natasha’s panic increased exponentially, and she jabbed at her earpiece hastily, “This is Agent Romanoff. We need med-evac. _Stat!”_

She quickly rattled off their location, desperately hoping for a prompt reply.

And the comms buzzed just a second later, “Okay, Agent, we’re sending the chopper over.”

“Take the first right in your path,” the voice informed, “There’s an abandoned airstrip about 2 miles down the road. The chopper will intercept you there.”

Natasha barked out her approval and steered their car appropriately. She glanced at Hill, taking in her shallow breaths, her eyelids drooping and her expression pained. Natasha reached out with one hand and rubbed her knuckles over the lieutenant’s jaw, wishing she could end her misery.

“Just a few more minutes, Hill,” Natasha whispered, “Stay with me. _Please_.”

And just like that, the brunette opened her eyes a little wider and focused her gaze on Natasha’s face. And Natasha gave her the most encouraging smile she could muster, before shifting her gaze back to the road.

_Damn. It really is a magic word._

* * *

Hill was being wheeled away.

They were on the Helicarrier and Hill was being wheeled away and Natasha couldn’t keep up with the medics. Her own body was utterly drained, and she could only follow them from several steps behind; her short, tired strides no match for their hurried pace.

And just before the doctors pushed open the door to the emergency room, Hill rose a little on the gurney.

And even from the distance, Natasha heard the soft call, “Romanoff…”

And Natasha was instantly spurred into motion, her feet working on their own as she rushed towards the wounded agent. She reached Hill and quickly bent down, urging the lieutenant to speak.

“Before the… before the date changes,” the brunette whispered, her voice paper-thin, _“Happy birthday.”_

Hill’s eyes fluttered close a second later and she slipped into oblivion. The medics promptly pushed Natasha aside and threw the doors open, taking the lieutenant into surgery.

And Natasha simply stood there, dumbstruck at the whole series of events.

* * *

Natasha had been standing at the same spot for quite some time now.

She kept looking at Hill’s sleeping – _unconscious –_ form through the small, circular window of the ICU; the doctor’s words ringing in her mind.

_“We’ve removed the bullets, but Agent Hill lost a lot of blood from the severed vein in her thigh. A little more delay in getting her here, and she’d have gone into a full haemorrhagic shock. The next 24 hours are critical.”_

Natasha shook her head, forcing herself to think about something else.

But her mind went right back to the happenings of the op. And it suddenly occurred to Natasha that it made _no sense_ that they were still alive.

She’d deduced that Hill had gotten ambushed by that set of gunmen, back in the room, and that’s what had started everything else. But Natasha thought back and realised that the lieutenant couldn’t have fended off the attack _and_ pulled Natasha out of the vent. Not without already –

_Oh._

And it all came back to Natasha, hitting her like a bus.

The abrupt change in Hill’s mood, when Natasha had got to the room above the chamber. The unexplained urgency in the taller woman’s demeanour, as she’d set up the gear. The sudden tension marking the lieutenant’s features, before Natasha had gone into the chamber.

The fact that she’d _let_ Natasha go in.

And Natasha felt rage bubbling within her. She drilled her gaze into the brunette’s prone body, as if it would make her open her eyes.

_You’d better come out of there alive, Hill. Because I am absolutely going to kill you once you do._


	2. The Knight Without Armour

#### The Soldier

Maria stared at the object – _objects_ – in front of her wistfully. As if looking at them would make them magically come closer, and she could hold them in her hands.

But the water bottle and her cane were much too far away, lying by the benches in the gym, a good 20 yards away from where she was standing.

Maria tried to recall how they even got there. And she quickly remembered the janitor that had come just 15 minutes ago, who must’ve moved the stuff while cleaning the floor.

_You’ve got to be kidding me._

It was absurdly early in the morning and there was no one else apart from her in the gym for her to even _consider_ asking for help.

It was 5 days since the op, and Maria had been doing the physiotherapy exercises she’d been assigned. She wasn’t supposed to strain her leg too much, actually, and the doctor had told her to take a break on that day, which was why he _wasn’t_ with her right now.

_Also, it’s a Sunday, and unlike you, others have a life._

But of course _,_ Maria had brushed the guy off and here she was, pushing her body to its limit, eager to get her full functionality back.

Maria gripped the parallel bars in frustration and lowered her head. The short distance till the water bottle seemed so damn endless right, she could only grit her teeth at her own helplessness.

_Not that I have a choice, though._

Maria took a deep breath and raised her head, preparing herself to walk the walk. And she was stopped just before she could leave the bars and take a step.

“Hey there, hot stuff.”

The voice had come from somewhere behind her, but Maria didn’t turn around to look at the Russian. She hadn’t met Romanoff ever since they’d come back to the Helicarrier, and she didn’t need to see the woman right now. Didn’t need to see the redhead’s arrogant smirk. Or, worse, the pity in her eyes.

The same pity that everyone else had shot her way, all these days.

“Do you need help?” Romanoff spoke again.

But Maria scoffed self-deprecatingly, giving her brief side glance, “Go ahead; patronise the cripple.”

Maria couldn’t have known for sure, but she thought she heard Romanoff blow out an angry huff. As if _she_ was offended. The woman didn’t respond, but she didn’t come to Maria’s aid either. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Romanoff stalk off further into the gym, towards the punching bags.

The sound of the Russian’s fists pounding against the bag took over, and Maria sighed to herself. There was no way she was going to try walking _– stumbling_ – over to the benches now. Because she was _99.99%_ sure she would fall midway. And while that alone was embarrassing enough, Maria couldn’t possibly have that happen in the presence of Romanoff.

Her pride was much needier than her parched throat right now.

Maria simply turned around and resumed the exercises, wishing that her thirst – _and_ the redhead – would go away.

But she knew all too well that they were both here to stay.

* * *

Maria managed to go another 30 minutes before her throat was dry enough for her to give in.

She was covered in perspiration and her body was screaming for some hydration. (And rest.)

Romanoff hadn’t spoken to her the whole time, her focus solely directed at the punching bag that she was trying to eviscerate with her bare hands. The gym was still empty, apart from them, and Maria knew that nobody was going to come there any time soon.

Maria turned around and eyed the water bottle lying by the benches. She hobbled over to the end of the parallel bars, her gaze zeroing in on her destination.

_Here goes nothing._

And Maria let go of the bars, slowly stepping away from them. The pain in her leg was acute and immediate the second she left her support, and Maria clenched her jaw as she continued staggering forward.

And she’d barely taken 6 steps when her leg gave away, and she was falling.

Maria’s hands instantly flew out to brace herself against the cold, hard floor which she knew was going to hit her in only milliseconds.

But it didn’t.

Instead, Maria found a set of hands catching her and holding her in place. And she knew who they belonged to, but she was still surprised.

_How did she even get here so fast? She was at the other end of the gym._

Maria straightened herself and Romanoff held her upright, her grip on Maria’s arms gentle but firm. Completely contrasting the fire in her eyes. The redhead was straight-up glowering at her, but Maria somehow felt relieved when she didn’t trace a shred of sympathy in her orbs.

Romanoff took Maria’s arm and slung it over her shoulder – the same position from just a few days ago – and wrapped her hand around Maria’s waist. And Maria let the shorter woman support her weight as they shuffled forward.

The redhead led them over to the benches and lowered Maria onto one of them, her gaze studying Maria’s every movement. Maria grabbed her water bottle and brought it to her lips, desperate for the drink.

By the time she was done, she found that Romanoff was still there, and she was crouched before her. The redhead’s gaze was glued to Maria’s lap, and Maria only then saw the small blood patch on the trackpants, above her thigh.

Her leg was visibly shaking, and Maria realised just how much she’d exerted it, in a fit of her own adamance. Maria could almost picture the doctor’s disapproving glances, and she cringed inwardly. But she was more troubled by the look on Romanoff’s face.

The redhead’s whole posture was tightly strung, like she wanted to reach out and inspect the wound but was holding herself back. Maria noticed the bags under Romanoff’s eyes, and she felt a tug in her heart, wondering whether the woman had been sleeping well for the past few days.

And just before her thoughts could fully spiral out of control, the redhead’s hand came forward and held Maria’s injured leg, her face suddenly sporting a frown.

The doctors hadn’t covered the fracture in her shin with a hard cast – given the GSW on it – and Maria could feel Romanoff’s fingers over the material of her pants. The redhead slowly pulled the leg towards herself to stretch it, easing some of the tension off the calf and hamstrings, and then began massaging the muscles, ever so gently.

The touch was so soft, so _reverent,_ it almost made Maria’s heart stop.

And she could only watch the woman; her fingers moving lightly, pressing at the just the right spots, with just the right pressure. Romanoff’s own knuckles were bloodied and bruised – probably from pummelling the punching bag – but her fingers drifted fluidly over Maria’s leg. 

There was something poignant about the position they were in, with Romanoff – the _Black Widow –_ on her knees in front of Maria, her expression concerned and her grip tender.

It was just so… so… _humbling._

The redhead had lowered her head a little, her attention completely fixed on her task. And Maria wanted to tell her to rise. To get up and sit _beside_ her _._ The way they fought; shoulder-to-shoulder. But she simply couldn’t find her voice.

The trembling in Maria’s leg ceased eventually, and Romanoff stopped her ministrations. She gave the injured limb one last glance and then stood up wordlessly. The redhead whirled around to leave, and Maria was grabbing her hand before she even knew it.

“Romanoff,” she called out, her voice hoarse and thin all at the same time.

The Russian turned around to face her, and Maria suddenly didn’t know what she wanted to say.

“What was that…” Maria trailed off, fighting the urge to avert her gaze from the piercing emeralds.

Romanoff’s free hand came up and released her other wrist from Maria’s hold. The Russian bent down, bringing her face closer to Maria’s, making their gazes lock.

“You wanted me to patronise you, Hill,” Romanoff muttered, patting the wounded thigh once, “And I just _did.”_

_But you didn’t. If I’d thought – even for a second – that it was pity, I would’ve stopped you._

Maria kept looking into the redhead’s orbs, questions brimming in them, and she realised that she owed Romanoff a justification.

They’d hardly got to talk about what had actually happened during the mission, and Maria figured that the woman deserved to know why she’d almost gotten killed. On her _birthday._

“Look, Romanoff,” Maria began, clearing her throat, “About the op, I –”

“Why did keep saying you were sorry?” Romanoff cut her off, straightening herself and crossing her arms over her chest.

Maria didn’t know exactly which incident the woman was referring to, and her eyebrows arched up almost involuntarily. And the Russian nearly growled at her ignorance.

“After pulling me out of the chamber,” Romanoff clarified, “Why did you keep apologising?”

“I told you why, Romanoff,” Maria replied, “I should have –”

 _“No,”_ the redhead interrupted her again, “Why did you _keep_ apologising?”

“The first time was because you didn’t give me the drug before I went in,” Romanoff said, “But then you kept saying the words. Why?”

The Russian was studying her rather acrimoniously. Like she already knew the reason. The reason that Maria wasn’t aware of _herself._

“I don’t know,” Maria answered, her voice clear and honest.

Romanoff’s lips briefly twitched with annoyance and she dropped her arms beside her, curling her hands into fists.

“I happen to have a theory,” the Russian said, her eyes flashing brighter than ever.

Her tone was calm – _eerily_ calm – and Maria braced herself for whatever the woman was going to say next.

“You were apologising because you tricked me,” Romanoff said.

No. Not _said._ Stated _._

“You tricked me into letting me _‘have what I want,’”_ Romanoff spat out, her chest heaving visibly, like it was taking all of her to not unleash her wrath.

“You _knew_ we were going to get ambushed,” the Russian continued, “So you let _me_ go into the chamber, without a word of explanation. _”_

Maria wasn’t really shocked that Romanoff had figured it out, but she stayed quiet, sensing the fury in the woman’s voice.

The redhead bent down once again, her hand reaching out and grabbing Maria’s collar. She yanked at it violently, bringing their faces impossibly close.

“You were apologising, Hill,” Romanoff whispered, her voice low and ominous, “Because you _didn’t. Fight. Fair._ ”

The allegation sliced right through Maria’s heart. And as much as the Russian’s gaze was burning her, she couldn’t look away. They kept staring at each other for a while, the silence caustic and crackling.

“You’re right,” Maria sighed eventually, knowing that this conversation was inevitable.

“I’d spotted the gunmen when I was coming over to the room,” Maria began, “And I’d managed to evade them. By taking the ‘ _shortcut_.’”

Romanoff’s eyes were ablaze with anger, and Maria rushed to explain, “But they’d been floundering about near the back exit of the building, clearly lacking any knowledge about the lab’s floorplans.”

“And I…” Maria breathed, “I’d thought that we would have enough time to extract the vials and get out before they found us.”

_Or that I would be able to hold off the attack, if they did get there._

“But I was obviously wrong,” Maria muttered, her own guilt slipping into her voice.

 _It had always been a_ when, _not an_ if.

“You didn’t even _tell_ me, Hill,” Romanoff growled, “You just let me stay oblivious _– blithely_ oblivious – while you were –”

“How do you think telling you would have panned out?” Maria cut her off, “You’d have turned it into another game. About who gets to hold the _rope,_ this time.”

“And, like I told you back then,” Maria added, “I didn’t have time for that.”

Rage rippled across Romanoff’s face, and for a second, Maria thought that the Russian would just punch her.

“We needed to get the vials out fast, Romanoff,” Maria reasoned, “And _no one’s_ faster than the Black Widow.”

“You didn’t tell me _that_ either, Hill,” Romanoff snarled, her voice cracking just a bit, “Didn’t tell me to hurry up. Didn’t tell me that you were probably going to get _gunned,_ in a matter of minutes.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Maria stopped her, “You had a whole other problem to solve on your own, with the unexpected second safe. Rushing you and stressing you out wasn’t going to help at all.”

“Bold of you to have assumed that I _would_ get stressed,” Romanoff retorted, her voice – and her body – vibrating furiously.

“What do you want to know, Romanoff?” Maria snapped, sick of this pointless dispute, “I don’t have a death-wish, if that’s what you think. But we’re arguing over _what-if’s_ and _should-have’s_ which we both know is meaningless.”

The Russian scowled at her menacingly, her gaze flickering to Maria’s leg: _you got shot._

And Maria simply glared back: _and you nearly died of asphyxiation; we’re even._

But she could see the remorse swirling in the redhead’s eyes; raw and rampant and _rabid_. Ravaging her from the inside.

Romanoff clenched the fabric of Maria’s shirt tighter in her fist, “I want to know why you did it.”

“I did what I had to do,” Maria said, almost automatically.

And she was surprised by her own reply. She didn’t know why she was deflecting the question, despite not having the answer to it.

Or maybe, the answer was there, and she didn’t want to _accept_ it.

“We didn’t have the time to discuss and debate,” Maria went on, gathering herself, “Among the two of us, _you_ were the best fit for cracking open the safe – the _safes –_ and so, I let you go in.”

Maria looked dead into the Russian’s eyes, raising her chin boldly, “It was a _tactical_ , if still instinctive decision.”

And Maria was rather proud of how confident and consummate it all sounded.

_Yeah. I did it for the mission._

But, for some unfathomable reason, Romanoff’s eyes softened, and she lowered her head _._ She shook it a couple of times before looking back up.

The redhead’s emeralds seemed to bore right into Maria’s soul as she spoke, “You did it to protect me.”

The words were crisp and clear and _calm_. Probably for the first time in that whole morning, there wasn’t a hint of accusation in Romanoff’s tone.

“And I would have done it for any other agent,” Maria replied, meeting the woman’s gaze, “ _Especially_ for any other agent.”

To someone else, it would have been the most callous thing to say. But Maria hoped that the redhead would read the real thought behind the words.

_The Black Widow is hardly someone who needs my protection._

And Romanoff must have read it, because her hold over Maria’s shirt loosened just a little. The green orbs were glimmering even as the woman tried to curb her smile. And Maria could feel the tension slowly starting to ebb away.

“Also, just to mention, I _did_ fight fair,” Maria said, her own lips turned up in a lopsided grin, “Because in the end, we _both_ got to do the cool parts.”

And just like that, a _dazzling_ smile broke out on the redhead’s face, its brilliance making her features glow. Romanoff ducked her head a bit and chuckled fondly, and Maria finally let herself relax. She watched the woman intently, her eyes vibrant once again.

The laugher fizzled out eventually, and Romanoff sighed contentedly. Her gaze returned to Maria’s face, and she tugged at Maria’s shirt again, gently this time.

Maria had come to recognise _this_ grip by now; delicate enough to not threaten, deliberate enough to not be thwarted.

(She’d dubbed it ‘The Widow’s Clasp.’)

“The next time you pull this kind of crap, Hill,” Romanoff whispered, her eyes glittering, “ _You won’t apologise._ ”

And Maria felt her breath catch in her throat. She couldn’t have imagined the sentence to be ended that way, and she was stunned to silence.

There was something in the redhead’s voice – something akin to _devotion –_ that was as scathing as it was soothing. Respect and gratitude were shining bright in Romanoff’s orbs, and Maria couldn’t figure out why she deserved it.

The redhead flashed her a small, but still radiant smile, “You won’t apologise for being the shield.”

_And you won’t thank me for being the sword._

The words were right at the precipice of her lips, but Maria reined them in. They were far too sacred – and disturbingly poetic – to be revealed. But the way Romanoff was looking at her made Maria wonder if the woman had heard them anyway. And she needed to get rid of the sudden intensity of the moment.

“I know at least two things worth being sorry for,” Maria said, a sly smile on her lips.

“Oh, yeah?” the Russian huffed, “I swear, Hill, if it’s your gunshot wo–”

“Your Louis Vuitton pumps,” Maria cut her off, grinning full-on, “The ones that you had to throw away. The ones that were _‘crazy’_ expensive.”

Romanoff left Maria’s collar and straightened herself, physically struggling to stifle her own smile. She gave in, eventually, and shot Maria yet another gorgeous grin, shaking her head fondly.

Maria smirked back at the Russian and then reached for her cane. She slowly pushed herself off the bench and stood up, gripping the cane tightly for support. She quickly shifted her weight onto her good leg, before the pain could set in again, and then looked back Romanoff.

“You need to get that re-bandaged,” the shorter woman said, pointing towards Maria’s thigh.

“Yeah,” Maria replied, “But I’m going to take a shower first, and then maybe some breakfast.”

“Mind if I join you?” Romanoff all but purred.

And Maria stared at her blankly, hoping that her expression didn’t betray her nervousness.

_Don’t be an idiot, Hill. You know she means for breakfast._

But then the Russian winked suggestively, and Maria wasn’t so sure anymore.

Not that she’d ever go down without a fight.

Maria leaned forward, bringing her face down to the shorter woman’s level, and then shot her a shrewd smile of her own.

“Not at all, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, narrowing her eyes for a second, “I think it’ll be _hot.”_

And _for_ _once,_ the redhead was flustered by the retort, and her expression froze. And Maria couldn’t have been prouder of herself.

“I meant the _coffee_ in the cafeteria,” Maria said eventually, smirking at the Russian, “We could catch the freshly brewed batch if we get there early enough.”

“Damn, Hill,” Romanoff chuckled breathlessly at the trick, “You’re on a roll today.”

Maria straightened herself and grinned back at the woman. Romanoff returned it and the two of them started making their way towards the exit of the gym.

Their pace was much too slow for Maria’s liking, but the Russian walked beside her rather causally, her demeanour not changing even in the slightest. Like it _wasn’t_ taking them more than a whole minute to get to the door, when they usually covered that distance in seconds.

“The cane is pretty cool,” Romanoff commented, her tone teasing, “Gives you a nice _Dr Watson_ vibe.”

“Is that so?” Maria scoffed, her voice just as playful, “And does that mean I have to call _you_ Sherlock?”

“Wouldn’t matter either way, Hill,” the Russian replied smugly, giving her a side glance, “You already said it the other day: I _am_ a genius.”

_And the Widow strikes back._

_God_ , Maria loved the games.

As infuriating and _insanely_ inappropriate they’d be at times, Maria absolutely _loved_ Romanoff’s games. They were a breath of fresh air, amidst the guns and the ops and the near deaths that comprised their lives. And Maria managed to make time for them, even when she _literally_ didn’t have it.

They finally reached the exit, the point for them to part their ways, and Maria turned to look at the shorter woman, “See you in a bit?”

“I would’ve raced you till the cafeteria,” Romanoff said cockily, “But it would hardly be a competition of equals.”

The reply – and that goddamn smirk – was sassy as hell, but the redhead’s eyes were soft. And Maria could feel the warmth in them, right down till her bones.

“You never know, Romanoff, I might just win,” Maria retorted, her own voice filled with mirth, “I happen to know several shortcuts.”

“But you always fight fair, don’t you?” Romanoff replied smoothly, “ _Soldier.”_

_Damned smartass._

The Russian knew she’d won, and she wiggled her eyebrows wickedly. She gave Maria an over-exaggerated salute and then proceeded to strut off to her quarters. And Maria simply stood there, shaking her head at the theatrics.

The woman was flippant, arrogant, and outright insolent. But it was still amazing how effortlessly she could brighten Maria’s day _._

And, for so many reasons, that was all that mattered. Because, in their world, just finding a reason to smile was the toughest job.

Everything else was elementary.

* * *

Maria was in the en-suite bathroom in her office, tying her just-dried hair back in a ponytail, when she heard a knock on her cabin’s door.

And from the distinctly rhythmic raps against the opaque glass, she knew it was Romanoff. Maria hobbled over to the door as quickly as she could and opened it.

The Russian had left her hair loose, the flaming red tresses still a little wet from her shower, and Maria could make out the faint scent of her lavender-and-lemongrass shampoo. Romanoff was in the standard trackpants issued by S.H.I.E.L.D. and a well-fitting t-shirt; the outfit almost matching Maria’s.

And now that the strain from earlier had left her features, the redhead was positively aglow. And despite the simple attire, she looked –

“Predictable,” Romanoff muttered, “I knew I’d find you here, and not in the _med-bay,_ where you’re supposed to be getting your leg patched up.”

Beautiful _._ She looked _beautiful_.

“I don’t _need_ to go to the med-bay,” Maria huffed, “I can do it on my own. And that’s what I was going to do, when you so rudely interrupted me.”

“Besides,” Maria added, “My office is much closer to the cafeteria.”

The Russian rolled her eyes before barging into the room, as if she owned the place _._ She walked straight up to the cabinet beside Maria’s desk and took out the first-aid box from one of the drawers.

“Okay then, Agent,” Romanoff said, whirling around to face her, “Drop your pants.”

“Nice try, Romanoff,” Maria replied, recognising the woman’s cheeky smirk, “But you didn’t use the magic word this time either.”

The shorter woman came forward and tilted her head to look up at Maria. Mischief danced in her eyes, but they were just as mellow.

“ _Please,_ Hill,” the redhead scoffed lightly, “We both know that _I_ wouldn’t be the one begging.”

The response couldn’t have been more perfect, and Maria could only grin back.

The two of them shuffled over to the couch in the office, and Maria set her cane aside before lowering herself onto it. And Romanoff was about to squat down before her, but Maria grabbed her arm to stop her. She tugged the redhead forward, making her to sit beside her on the couch, and the green orbs turned infinitely softer.

Maria smiled at her once before rolling up her trackpants till the wound on her thigh was exposed. And Romanoff quickly got to work, her movements fast and efficient. Maria kept watching the woman, and her thoughts suddenly went back to the events of the op.

She didn’t really know why she hadn’t told Romanoff about the impending attack. Maria wondered if it was because the redhead had been so chirpy, and she just didn’t want to throw a wet blanket over it all.

_Of course, if I say that out loud, she will probably kill me._

Maria remembered that cursed moment when the gunmen had stormed into the room. Despite everything, she’d been caught off guard, and that first shot to her thigh had made her grip over the rope holding Romanoff loosen, just for a split-second.

Maria’s reflexes had somehow prevented her from letting go of the cord altogether, but she’d struggled to maintain the hold over the rope, her other hand firing back at the assailants. It was pure adrenaline that had kept her going, and Maria would never know how she’d even managed to pull the redhead out of the opening.

Her eyes landed on Romanoff’s neck, and Maria gritted her teeth. The still-healing scrapes on the skin – where the redhead had clawed at her own throat – were visible as the woman tilted her head a little while covering up the wound on Maria’s shin.

That whole stretch of time – when Romanoff was in the chamber till she was out, safe and _breathing_ – was nothing short of nerve-wracking.

But then Maria remembered how composed the Russian had been throughout the op, despite almost _dying,_ and she realised just wrong she’d been.

“I should have told you that I’d seen the gunmen,” Maria said suddenly, making the redhead look up at her for just a second before resuming her task.

“You were right about what you said,” Maria breathed, “You wouldn’t have gotten stressed.”

_You never get stressed. It’s why you always get the job done._

“And maybe…” Maria paused, gulping down the remorse, “Maybe you would’ve come up with a better plan.”

_A plan that might’ve saved us a lot of pain._

The redhead was done with her work, and she kept the supplies aside before facing her. Much to Maria’s surprise, the Russian’s eyes were calm, and Maria’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

“You have all the right to be mad at me,” Maria whispered, dropping her head, “I really am sorry.”

They stayed quiet for a while, each one lost in their own thoughts. Maria’s gaze fell on the redhead’s hands, and she sighed to herself. She took one of Romanoff’s hands into her own, her thumb involuntarily ghosting over the woman’s torn knuckles.

Romanoff sucked in an audible breath, breaking the silence, “I wouldn’t have gotten stressed, and neither would I have changed the plan.”

The words made Maria’s head snap up, and she found the redhead staring back at her, her green orbs warm and gentle.

“It was _your_ plan, Hill,” the redhead murmured, “I had no reason to doubt it.”

Romanoff opened her mouth once again, but then stopped herself and ducked her head a little. As if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to say the next part. But then the woman smiled to herself, like she was remembering something, and Maria waited for her to look up.

“I knew that even if I fell, you’d catch me,” Romanoff whispered, raising her head, “ _No matter what.”_

And Maria almost physically jerked back at the conviction in the Russian’s voice.

It was similar to the kind of faith _she_ had in the redhead, but Maria knew it was different for Romanoff. Trust didn’t come so easily to the Russian, and Maria couldn’t fathom what she’d done to earn it.

_But now that I have, I don’t ever want to lose it._

Because this was the _Widow’s_ trust, and it was precious. _Profound_ and precious.

Maria couldn’t find the words to respond, and Romanoff smiled at her warmly, “And you _did._ ”

“And, about being mad at you,” the redhead continued, “Yeah, I was pissed off as hell. But I was even madder at _myself_.”

“I didn’t read the clues you were unintentionally dropping,” Romanoff mumbled, averting her gaze, “I would’ve been quicker if I had, but I was just so busy enjoying myself –”

“It was your _birthday,_ Romanoff,” Maria said, sensing the guilt in the woman’s voice, “You were _supposed_ to be enjoying yourself, not busting your ass on a mission.”

_And definitely not nearly choking to death._

Maria clenched her jaw and shut her eyes, her own penitence coming back to her. But she opened them almost immediately, when she felt a squeeze on her hand, the one holding Romanoff’s. The woman’s gaze was glued on their tangled fingers, and Maria could guess that the redhead had something on her mind.

Romanoff blew out a fond sigh before looking up, “Ops with you are something else, Hill.”

“I could just be holding a rope, like some kind of a loser,” the redhead said, a grin dancing on her lips, _“And it would still be fun.”_

The words were so heartfelt – and heart _-warming –_ and Maria simply couldn’t contain her smile. And she remembered the reference; the time before Romanoff had gone into the chamber. When Maria had been all gruff and rude to the woman, her own tension making her lash out.

_The same tension that had made me careless._

Maria cocked up an eyebrow, hiding her remorse, “Even when I’m being a hard-ass?”

Romanoff tugged at their hands sharply, pulling Maria down to her level, “ _Especially_ when you’re being a hard-ass.”

Maria flashed her a grin before leaving her hand and rolling down her pants. She grabbed her a cane and they got off the couch, ready to go for their breakfast non-date date.

The walk to the cafeteria was going to be a long one, and Maria’s leg was throbbing from her earlier overexertion. Beside her, Maria saw the redhead’s worried expression and she followed her gaze down. And Maria noticed that her leg was already trembling a little, but she was no longer fazed by it.

Her belief was just as strong as Romanoff's.

_She’ll catch me, even if I fall._

* * *

They’d taken just two steps when the door to the office was thrown open.

Fury walked up to them, giving them a clipped nod, “Good thing I found both of you here, Agents.”

“I know it’s a Sunday,” the Director said, “But I thought we’d get over with the debrief, before Romanoff goes off on her next mission.”

“One that is actually _hers,_ this time, _”_ Fury added, giving the redhead a pointed look.

And Maria pursed her lips, surprised at the Director’s strictness, and studied him carefully.

She noticed the slight gleam in his eye, and she nearly smiled to herself. It wasn’t every time that one got to bully _the_ Black Widow, and Maria knew that Fury was going to milk this opportunity for all it’s worth.

But then she saw the apprehension on the redhead’s face – earnest and endearing – and her heart melted.

“The Widow’s intervention was necessary, Sir,” Maria spoke, making Fury look at her, “We couldn’t have gotten the vials without her.”

Romanoff shot her a tiny smile and Maria went on to explain the events of the mission. The Director listened intently but his expression stayed inscrutable the whole time. He stayed quiet even after Maria was done, brooding over all the information.

“So, this second safe?” Fury said after a bit, “It was like a mini-computer?”

“Yes,” Maria replied, “It had a processor and a network and all the works.”

“That’s an alpha-coded glass safe,” the Director hummed, his tone lined with just a little awe, “There are very few of its kind being actively used in the world right now.”

Fury’s gaze darted towards the Russian before returning to Maria, “You’re saying that Romanoff managed to hack into it?”

“Within _minutes_ ,” Maria answered, the pride evident in her voice as she looked towards the redhead, “Agent Romanoff singlehandedly completed the mission.”

The shorter woman’s gaze softened, and she gave Maria a blinding grin. Her green orbs shimmered with gratitude, and Maria immediately averted her eyes.

_What validation could the Black Widow possibly need from me?_

“Not singlehandedly,” Romanoff said, making Maria look at her.

The redhead shot her a quick smirk before shifting to face Fury, “Agent Hill did pull some strings here and there.”

And Maria had to smother her laugh at the witty wordplay.

The Director simply shook his head, trying to hide his own smile, and Maria knew he’d been won over.

“Well, Romanoff,” Fury said, “Gate-crashing the op was fine, but you’re still expected to turn in the paperwork.”

“The report is complete, Sir,” Maria spoke, making both of them look at her, “Even Romanoff’s part.”

She turned around and took a step forward, but Romanoff held her arm: _what do you need?_

Maria’s eyes darted towards the desk in her office, and the shorter woman instantly understood. Romanoff walked up to the desk, returning in a few seconds, her eyes fixed on the file in her hands. She passed it over to Fury, and he leafed through the pages for a bit.

“Well, this seems good,” the Director said eventually, snapping the file shut.

He looked towards both of them, his expression flickering for a bit when he saw the cane in Maria’s hand. But, just like Romanoff, there was no condolence in his gaze, and Maria waited for whatever he was going to say next.

The Director looked up to face them, a genuine smile on his lips, “Well done, Agents.”

He wheeled around and marched out of the office a second later, and Romanoff turned to look at her, her grin _wider_ than Maria’s.

“So,” the redhead said, still beaming at her, “You did the paperwork on my behalf…”

Maria shrugged offhandedly, “Guess you dodged that bullet.”

And Romanoff’s smile instantly faltered, “But you didn’t.”

Maria gave her an apologetic look, her eyes flitting to the woman’s neck: _bullets aren’t the only things that can kill._

But Maria was done with the bitter blame game.

“Yeah, _gun_ shots aren’t fun at all,” Maria said, smirking at the redhead, “I’d prefer tequila any day.”

The Russian grinned back, “Too bad, Hill, you have to stick to coffee right now.”

“I doubt that’s going to be any good,” Maria replied, “The debrief took too long, and all we’re going to get now is the re-heated coffee from the earlier batch.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Romanoff said, a crooked smile on her lips, “I’ve got a plan.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Maria asked.

“Oh, yeah, Hill,” Romanoff replied, her hand snaking up to fist Maria’s collar, _yet_ again.

“And this time,” the Russian whispered, tugging her closer, “ _You’re_ going to be the one getting your hands dirty, while _I_ take on the enemy.”

Maria didn’t have a single clue of what the woman had in her mind, but she found herself nodding and grinning in response, her nerves already excited in the familiar way they did, every time the redhead had an idea.

This was the Widow in action. And she _always_ got what she wanted.

* * *

Maria skulked around the edge of the drinks counter at the cafeteria, making sure the barista couldn’t see her as she waited for the Russian to make an appearance.

_This is insane, and Romanoff deserves an award if it works._

The guy was at the other end of the counter and his body was turned away from where Maria was standing. His attention was focused on the newspaper he was reading near the billing machine, and Maria let herself relax.

Her gaze swept across the rest of the canteen, and she found the place nearly empty. And even the agents present were scattered at the corners of the cafeteria.

_Even better for us._

And in the next few seconds, Romanoff sashayed up to the guy, approaching the counter from the front. The man looked up and the redhead flashed him a toothy grin.

“Oh my _God!_ I heard about the proposal!” Romanoff all but squealed at the guy, “Tell. Me. _Everything!”_

The man let out a shy chuckle and the two of them promptly began chatting. The redhead’s voice was clearly audible as she cooed along with the guy, and Maria had to stifle her laugh as she got to work.

She pulled open the short swing door beside her and slipped behind the counter. Gathering the required stuff, Maria added it to the coffee maker and started the machine.

Her eyes darted around to keep a lookout as she waited for the brew cycle to finish. Maria knew how the Russian liked her coffee, and she brought over the milk and the cream and the sugar.

A thought struck her right then, and she glanced over towards Romanoff to see if she’d have enough time to implement the idea. But the redhead was in her element, gushing over the barista’s anecdote, and Maria knew she had more time than she’d need.

The coffees were whipped up soon enough, and Maria placed their cups onto a tray. She pushed the door and shuffled outside, clutching the tray tightly in one hand as she hobbled away from the counter.

Maria spotted a suitable table for them and started making her way to it. And Romanoff fell into pace beside her just a few steps later, holding another tray with two plates of pancakes.

“You’re quite tight with the barista, huh,” Maria teased, giving the redhead a side glance as they walked, “Does Barton know you’re cheating on him?”

The Russian sighed theatrically, “The things I have to do for extra whipped cream.”

They chuckled for a bit before Romanoff spoke again, “Nah, it actually started long back.”

“Many months ago, he accidentally gave _me_ the cup he was supposed to give his _girlfriend_ ,” the redhead said emphatically, “And it had a very, uh… _intimate_ note attached to it.”

“There were several blackmails and mock-threats, _naturally,_ ” Romanoff grinned devilishly, “But we eventually became friends.”

Maria rolled her eyes, not surprised at all, “Well, the way you guys were going back there, you might just end up officiating at their wedding.”

“ _That_ would be _epic,”_ the Russian replied, “Just imagine: the _Widow_ performing a marriage ceremony. It’s almost poetic.”

And Maria barely curbed her laughter.

They finally reached the table and set their trays down onto it. Romanoff waited till Maria was seated before moving over to the other side of the table and sitting down herself.

“I’d meant to ask you,” Maria said, “What made you ditch your plans and come over to help us on the op? I mean, it _was_ your birthday…”

“You keep fixating on the fact that it was my birthday,” Romanoff sighed, “But it’s actually just a date I arbitrarily chose.”

The redhead’s voice was painfully small, and Maria felt a tug in her heart. She couldn’t know what Romanoff was going through, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have brought up the topic.

“It still means something to you, doesn’t it?” Maria said, her own voice gentle, “You _did_ take that day off…”

The redhead nodded lightly, her eyes suddenly dim, “I guess, I wanted to see if celebrating the day would make it feel… _real.”_

_And then there’s me; someone whose birthday is as real as it gets, but hasn’t celebrated it even once._

Maria smiled back wistfully, “Well then, did it?”

Romanoff looked at her for a second and then ducked her head. But Maria had seen her orbs almost glaze over, and she held her breath, unable to guess what she’d said wrong.

And Maria was just about to reach out and hold her hand when the redhead raised her head. The emeralds were soft and sparkling this time, and Maria felt the reality around them melt away.

“Yeah,” Romanoff whispered, the cutest smile on her lips, “It did feel real.”

Unbridled and _undaunted,_ joy glistened across the redhead’s face, and Maria felt her insides flutter with delight.

“In that case, Romanoff,” Maria said, placing the Russian’s cup of coffee in front of her, “Happy birthday. Belated.”

The redhead’s grin widened some more, if that was even possible, and she took the cup. She peered into it and then let out a chuckle.

And Maria could guess why.

Romanoff was probably laughing at the art design that Maria had attempted over the coffee. It was _supposed_ to be an hourglass – the Black Widow’s insignia – but the cream was starting to dissolve, and the shape would soon be reduced to a graceless blob.

“That, uh…” Maria stuttered self-consciously, “Those were actually the two triangles.”

“They’re a little lopsided, sorry,” Maria muttered sheepishly, trampling the nervous urge to scratch her neck.

“They’re perfect,” Romanoff replied, the smile on her lips suddenly sultry.

The Russian’s gaze flitted down to Maria’s torso, staying there for just a second before returning to Maria’s face. The simper on Romanoff’s face was legitimately _lecherous_ , and Maria felt her cheeks heating up.

She instantly leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, the words tumbling out of her mouth, “Romanoff, that is _beyond_ –”

“Your _eyes,_ Hill,” Romanoff cut her off, her expression smug, “Your eyes are perfect.”

And Maria scoffed breathlessly at the Russian’s trick.

_In-fucking-corrigible._

The redhead mirrored Maria’s movement, resting her back against her chair, “But I _love_ the filthy way your mind works.”

Romanoff wiggled her eyebrows impishly, and Maria shook her head at the minx and her sheer audacity. Her mind was still reeling, and Maria simply chose to dig into her food, not daring to offer any retort.

Romanoff followed suit and attacked her own pile of pancakes. They ate in silence, but the redhead kept stealing glances over her meal, and Maria suddenly froze, the Russian’s words coming back to her.

_Wait, was she serious about my eyes?_

Right then, Romanoff lifted her cup of coffee and brought it to her lips, her gaze never wavering away from Maria’s face this time.

The redhead took a sip of the beverage and then smiled, “ _Perfect.”_

And Maria had to wonder if that was meant only for the coffee.

* * *

“Careful, Romanoff, it could slip from your grip.”

“You’re worried what you’ll do if I drop it?”

Maria levelled the redhead with a faux glare, and Romanoff stopped twirling the cane in her hand.

Grabbing it out of the woman’s hold, Maria hooked the cane behind her chair, “I’m more worried that you’ll end up hitting someone with it.”

“Always protecting everyone from the Widow’s strike, aren’t you?” Romanoff grinned cheekily.

Maria only smiled back and sipped her coffee. They finished the last bit of their drinks and then leaned back into the seats, not ready to leave just yet.

“So,” Maria said eventually, “Fury mentioned that you have a mission coming up. That anything interesting?”

“Can’t say so soon,” Romanoff replied, “It’s an undercover op, so I’ll only know if it’s fun once it gets started.”

“I fly out later today,” the Russian added, “The whole mission is supposed to last a month or so.”

Maria hummed in response, and Romanoff spoke again, “What about you? What’s the next course of action for the crippled soldier?”

Maria knew it was playful teasing, given the redhead’s gentle smile, and she chuckled at her, “Well, I’m on medical leave for one week –”

“ _Two_ weeks, probably,” Romanoff cut her off, arching up an eyebrow, “Which you cut down to one.”

“ _– and then_ ,” Maria continued, rolling her eyes, “I’ll be stuck with desk work for the next month.”

Maria suddenly remembered the physiotherapist’s words, and she dropped her head a little, “The doctors aren’t too optimistic, though…”

“What do you mean?” Romanoff replied, giving her hand a light nudge.

Maria sighed heavily before answering, “They say that the bullets have caused some nerve damage to my leg. They don’t know if it will fully heal.”

“I…” Maria stopped, willing her voice to stay stable, “I might never be able to race you again.”

_I might never be out in the field again._

Maria lowered her head and clenched her jaw, pushing down the frustration.

She looked up after a bit and gave Romanoff a sad smile. And even though the redhead returned it, Maria could see the grief in the green orbs. Like it was paining _her._

The Russian nodded absently after a bit, and then began gathering the plates and cups. She stacked the trays onto each other and placed the utensils on the topmost one. Maria took the cue and reached for her cane, standing up just as the Russian got off from her seat.

Romanoff picked the trays off the table, not letting Maria hold anything, and they began walking. And they’d taken about 7 steps when the redhead suddenly tripped beside her.

Maria’s instincts instantly kicked in and her free hand reached out to grab Romanoff’s arm. At the same time, the Russian’s reflexes took over, and her other hand flew out to stop the stuff in the tray from falling over.

The resemblance was uncanny, really. It was almost _exactly_ the way they worked, on missions.

Romanoff steadied herself and then looked at Maria. The shorter woman had a strange grin on her lips, and Maria wondered if she’d faked the accident.

“A shield with a dent still saves lives, Hill,” Romanoff whispered, her voice soft but staunch.

And Maria just had to smile at the implied message.

“You love your metaphors, don’t you?” Maria smirked at the redhead.

Romanoff grinned back almost instantly, “Not nearly as much as I love being out in the field –”

The redhead stopped herself abruptly, but Maria heard the unsaid _with-you,_ and she felt a surreal warmth buzz within her.

They gave each other another glance and then resumed walking, without any more stunts-to-prove-a-point. They deposited the trays and then trudged over to the exit of the cafeteria.

“Well, I have to go get prepped for the op,” Romanoff said, turning to look at her.

“About that race, though,” the redhead went on, “We _will_ have another one. When I’m back.”

“And it’ll be a _fair_ one, this time,” Romanoff added, with that wicked-but-still-adorable glint in her eyes.

The Russian’s gaze flitted down, and she observed Maria’s cane for a few seconds. Like glaring at it was going to make it go away by the time she’d return from her mission. Maria almost laughed at that.

“Okay then, Agent,” Romanoff exhaled, looking up, “I have to leave now. Catch you later, in a few weeks.”

Maria nodded, “I would’ve said ‘break a leg,’ but I feel like it’s too soon for that joke.”

Romanoff chuckled and then shook her head fondly. She gave Maria the second dramatic salute of the day before whirling around and sauntering off in the direction of her quarters.

And the silly grin stayed on Maria’s lips long after the redhead was out of her sight. Because she was _actually_ looking forward to having that race with Romanoff.

Maria knew she probably wouldn’t – _couldn’t –_ win against the Widow.

But she was sure that she wouldn’t lose either.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure there's such a thing as an "alpha-coded glass safe."


End file.
